


Heavy

by mxgicdave



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Missing Scene, One Shot, Trans Character, Trans Kylo Ren, scars and bruises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:29:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxgicdave/pseuds/mxgicdave
Summary: A moment of quiet reflection.





	Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> A short little piece I wrote way back when TFA came out, and decided to revisit and edit this week. Just a little study on Kylo and what I picture for his character, a moment of the in-between. Thanks for clicking in and I hope you enjoy!

Kylo Ren wakes up cold every morning. Living on a global tundra wasn't expected to be the warmest of places, but he swears they never turn the heat up in any of the sleeping quarters.

When Kylo goes to his room, he sheds what feels like half his weight. The thick layers of knits and vinyl and leather he locks himself in are tossed to the corner and his helmet dropped with a thud into its stand, he goes baring nothing but shorts and a myriad of bruises, scars, and moles, to his bed. When he thinks on it, sleeping barely clothed is probably doesn't help the shivering.  

Sometimes when he undresses, he will stare at himself in the mirror that hangs above the dark metal of his sink. He's always had his complaints, and even now through the hard-earned muscle of his shoulders and arms, bulk filling out his chest and midsection, he can still picture where his ribs used to protrude, where his waist used to dip too far in, where his body was fragile and unfamiliar. He'll run an index finger along the well hidden scars on his chest, reminding him of the body that he cut away, the cocoon he emerged from.

He thought it would fix a lot of things, and it did, but it didn't help how out of place he felt in his own home, in the world he'd been born into.

If Kylo knew anything, it was that his body was the only thing he could trust. Even if his mind wasn't his, rattled by distant echoes of Luke and Snoke's constant instigation, the only reliable thing was the vessel he'd been born into. He new all its marks and how they got there, it didn't change without him knowing about it.

The sink is cold as he grips its side with a single hand, leaning forward into the mirror. A long finger prods at the never healing bruises that crop up on the bridge of his nose and in a halo across his forehead. He doesn't wince, the pressure is more familiar than the freedom. He feels this great lack of focus once his helmet leaves his face. His peripherals too sharp, his expressive eyes and soft mouth letting everything slip, no weight to keep his head on his shoulders. 

It is a heavy mask. He's never bothered to weigh it, but regardless, it's bound to make something in him stronger. At least, thats what he hopes and what he tells himself whenever a bruise becomes a burst vessel or a blister pops down his face mid-meeting. 

He barely recognizes himself somedays. It looks as if he's been in a fight, and each day a new part of his face swells and his nose becomes more crooked. He's beginning to lose what he so desperately wants to; the face of Ben Solo, the features marking him as theirs. 

As he ages and his face shifts, skin breaks and heals, pressing himself ever deeper into a new mold, he loses his fathers jaw and brow; his hair darker, cheeks more sunken. Resemblance has all but disappeared.

Though he can never escape the wet, brown eyes, that stare back like saucers. His mothers eyes; still pleading just enough that he feels his heart beg forgiveness.


End file.
